


aching blush

by glnx



Series: heaven in hiding [1]
Category: A Way Out (Video Game)
Genre: "undertones", Biting, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Language, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Outdoor Sex, Pining, Rough Kissing, Sexual Tension, and a whole fucking dump truck of sex, for like. 4000 words if that, if you fucking SQUINT, it's less likely thank you think, just a touch of deviation and a sprinkle of imagination, lube? in my outdoor camping smut?, oh i guess this is an au, so no buttsex, they take turns like proper schoolboys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-24 05:15:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18564673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glnx/pseuds/glnx
Summary: “They’re closing in,” Vincent mutters, sharing a look with Leo. “We should move.” The funny part comes when neither of them budges. Leo’s not so sure why Vincent doesn’t, but his feet throb too much for him to force them to the ground.“Should we, really?” he says.





	aching blush

**Author's Note:**

> lyrics from Heaven in Hiding // Halsey

In theory, they are quiet. Silent masters of stealth, stalking on delicate feet through the wild undergrowth. The perfect predators. The fugitives of freedom. The epitome of the hunting man.

In reality, they are the elephants.

“Hey! Asshole! Watch your step.”

Leo shoves an indignant Vincent away from him, who slaps his hand and retorts, “Then move faster! I thought we were supposed to be in a hurry!”

“I am moving as fast as I can. You're just a clumsy failure of an ape.” Leo says, shooting him with a hard look.

“The fuck you call me?” But Vincent moves towards him all the same, eyeing the trunk that Leo is leaning on.

Leo pats it and smiles. “Think you can help with this?” He reaches out and squeezes Vincent’s bicep. Despite it being indisputably made of steel, Leo still rolls his eyes and says, “Yikes. You don’t seem up to it, chief.”

Vincent twists out of Leo’s grasp and offers him a comically offended scowl. “You’re the one who looks like a fucking stick. Grab it up here.” He reaches around Leo, holding his elbow and raising his arm to where it should be.

Heat blooms through Leo’s neck. “Alright, alright!” he snaps, trying to shake Vincent off. “I got it. Count of three?”

Vincent nods and crouches, looping one arm under the trunk and bracing his other hand farther down. Together they grunt, “One, two, _three—_ ”

There is a moment of labored gasping as they surge upwards as one, struggling under the new weight of the fallen tree. Leo slips under it first, spinning so that his back is hefting the greater area. “Goddamn,” he spits, trying to wriggle away. “You got it?”

“Yeah, I got it.” Vincent’s voice shakes, not sounding very convincing.

Leo manages to get a foot out and edges away. He allows himself a moment before turning to help Vincent out. He holds the trunk up long enough for Vincent to throw it behind him with his shoulders, lunging out in the same movement. The log crashes back against the boulder to their left as soon as the man springs free.

They share a fatigued look as Vincent takes the lead, treading cautiously as the slope begins to steepen. Leo watches him pass by, muttering, “Yeah, you’re welcome, Vincent.”

Vincent either doesn’t hear him or chooses to ignore him. He does respond, though, but with an entirely different subject: “Wait, wait, wait, Leo,” he breathes, pointing down the hill. “Look. There’s a camp down there.”

Leo peers over Vincent’s shoulder, still trying to catch his breath. “Yeah, but it looks empty,” he says. Empty but inviting—it’s a clearing overlooking the ridge, with a divided pond right in the middle that seems to empty out in a stream running farther down the mountain. Smoke rises from a pit marked by chopped firewood and huge, flat stones. Beside it is a little shelter built from a couple large slabs of wood, one acting as flooring while the other leans against two upright logs.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Vincent says.

Leo steps up on a rock to get a better vantage point. Also to gain some extra inches just to make himself feel better, but Leo would never admit it. He watches a bird flutter down to the shelter and chirp. “Let’s check it out,” Leo decides, glancing back at Vincent. “Maybe there’s something to eat there.”

Almost on cue, Leo feels his stomach rumble. He covers it instinctively; he almost sighs in relief when Vincent doesn’t comment. “Alright,” is all the older man says.

Leo takes the initiative to kneel, swing his legs over the little cliff, and lower himself down to a point where he can safely drop to the mostly level clearing. He marvels at the place, admiring the two pools circling the campsite. He listens to Vincent noisily drop down to join him.

“You ever go camping, Vincent?” Leo asks, walking towards the water. He hesitates for just a second, quietly mourning the thought of having to get his pants wet. He’s about to take off his shoes and socks when he notices how sharp some of the rocks under the surface looks. Sacrificing comfort for safety doesn’t sound too bad after that.

Vincent follows suit once Leo sloshes his first few steps into the pool. “Few times,” he answers, “when I was a kid.”

“With your old man?”

“Nah,” Vincent chuckles. Leo watches him stoop down and glide a couple fingers through the clear water. “My uncle, actually.”

“And you liked it?” Leo checks.

“Yeah.”

Leo shakes his head in mild disbelief. “Man. Who wants to sleep outside on the cold, hard ground when you got a perfectly good bed at home?” It’s more of a vocalized thought, a rhetorical question. In retrospect, he probably wouldn’t have voiced it if he was in his right mind, because he still isn’t comfortable sharing possible weaknesses with his companion. Years of striking deals with devils have taught him that vulnerability is fatal in every situation.

Luckily, Vincent seems to take it as a joke. He laughs, then says, “Yeah, well. Beats sleeping in a nine by five room with bars, though.”

Leo can’t help but smile under his bowed head. He looks sideways at Vincent, who’s looking expectantly at him, and pushes him lightly. “Guess you’re right.”

“I am, huh?”

Leo rolls his eyes and keeps moving through the water. “But, seriously though, why risk it?”

“Risk what?”

Leo waves his hands around to fill the time he spends debating whether or not he should keep going with this train of thought. He does. “Oh, you know. Wild animals…bugs…no civilization—” he suddenly jumps, whirling around to menacingly waggle his fingers at Vincent— “no _toilet paper_ , Vincent!”

Vincent laughs again and shakes his head. He lightly grasps Leo’s hand with a short look to make sure he can. Leo allows the gesture and watches Vincent close his fingers into a fist. Without letting go, he counters, “Fresh air, no one bugging you. Cooking over a fire. It ain’t all bad, Leo.”

Leo shrugs. “Maybe not,” he agrees, “but still. No toilets?”

“Well, that’s the charm with it.”

Leo flinches back and yanks his hand from Vincent’s grip. “Oh, God, Vincent,” he complains. He makes a big show out of wiping it on his shirt. “I bet you had shit on your fuckin’ hand, didn’t you?”

Vincent bends down and splashes through the water with his hands, making sure to wet Leo’s legs. “Clean as my record, my friend.”

“Oh, that’s good. Real good.”

They quiet as they leave the pool and wander around the small camp. Leo locates a boulder on the water’s edge and sits as he tries to wring the water out of his pants. In front of him, Vincent kneels and blows on the glowing embers.

“Wonder when the last guys were here,” Leo muses, silently worrying about having company nearby. “Think they’re gone?”

Vincent looks around, squinting at details Leo is too lazy to look for. “I’d say we’re safe, yeah. Not seeing any footsteps or places that were recently disturbed.”

Leo nods and lays back on the rock, yawning, “Good enough for me.”

“Hey!” He hears Vincent move, but he doesn’t look up until a large palm that slaps down on his thigh forces his hand. He scrambles up, a protest on his lips, but Vincent beats him to it. “None of that here. We’re in this together. I need to get some firewood to get this baby running again.”

Leo groans and massages his temples. “Fine, I get the picture.” He stands up, but not without exaggerated noises of irritation. “What are you gonna be doing while I’m gone?”

Vincent looks long and hard at something beyond him, so intently that Leo has to look, too. It takes him a moment to figure out what it is, but once he follows Vincent’s eyes to the pond, he notices the little black shapes flitting around the water. “Got any fish allergies I should know about?”

“Afraid not.”

 

It takes them upwards of an hour and a half, but they manage to catch four fish and get a fire up soon after. Presently, a couple of the fish roast over it. The others have disappeared into the men’s stomachs, but not without struggle.

Leo coughs into his fist and throws the skeleton over the ridge. “That tasted like shit, man,” he says, wiping his mouth. He only succeeds in smearing the oily residue over his lips and hand. “Ugh, God.”

Vincent’s tone is a lot calmer. “Well, you know, it is what it is.”

Leo glares at him. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t hate it, too,” he grumbles. “Up on your high fuckin’ horse where dog shit could taste like funnel cake.”

“Alright. It was just about the worst thing I ever ate,” Vincent allows with a chuckle. “But see, I know I got one more coming in, so I’m just trying to tolerate it.” He points at Leo with a bone and insists, “Eat up. You’ll need it.”

Leo groans again, louder this time, but takes the second fish off the fire and forces it into his mouth before his brain has the chance to catch up. A few bites and hard swallows later, Leo is none the healthier, bending over as he tries not to retch his guts up. “There,” he wheezes. “You happy?”

He looks up and grins. Vincent’s face has gone pale as he finishes the rest of his second fish, too. “Yup. Happy and full,” he grits out.

“Full of shit, maybe.”

“That too.”

Leo burps into his hand and nearly chokes on the taste. “Jesus,” he yelps. “We don’t get a break out here, do we?”

“Nope. It’s either this or the slammer.”

“And my fuckin’ feet hurt, too,” Leo barges on. “What about yours?”

He can feel Vincent’s gaze boring into his head. Probably as insufferably unreadable, almost gentle, as always. A quick glance validates his guess. “Nah, I’m good,” Vincent smiles.

Leo stares daggers at him. Trying to figure him out. Can’t stand much more of his attitude. “So you’re a tough guy, huh?”

The tiniest quirk in Vincent’s eyebrows gives away his surprise. “Well,” he says, “it’s not like we have much of a choice here.”

Leo swipes his tongue over his teeth, wondering if he should keep going. The prospect of the effort that would take wins against his aggression, so he lets Vincent win this time. “Yeah. Well. By the way, what are you in for?” he asks, changing the subject.

Vincent doesn’t miss a beat. “Something I didn’t do.”

“Ah, they all say that. Innocent, huh?” Leo cleans out one of his fingernails, glancing at Vincent every so often. “Aren’t we all. I’m innocent too, you know.”

Vincent laughs once, through his nose, and looks up at the sky. “Yeah,” he says. Stretches his arms. “Sure you are.”

“Just as innocent as you, man.” Leo pauses. Normally he wouldn’t betray so much interest in a fellow fugitive, but something compels him to keep going. Digging deeper. It’s some gradually intensifying desire to know this Vincent Moretti, an attractive enigma to humanity. “So what about family? You got any?”

Though Vincent doesn’t hesitate too long, he doesn’t meet Leo’s eyes this time. “Yeah, um. A wife, I hope. You?”

Leo purses his lips and dips his head. “Me too. And a kid, uh, a son,” he admits. He heaves a heavy sigh. “Alex. Real good kid. I fuckin’ miss him, man.”

“Yeah, I hear you,” Vincent says across the fire. He sounds sympathetic. Almost wistful.

When the other man doesn’t say anything more, Leo decides to vent a little, release some of the anger weighing down his heart. Vincent seems as safe of an outlet as anything he’ll get out here. “Piece of shit Harvey is gonna get what he deserves,” he promises, “let me tell you that.”

“So let’s go after him,” says Vincent, perking up. Too intently. Too quickly. “Together.”

Leo leans forward and props his elbow on his knee. Though he has no intention of declining this offer—a decision that his heart already made for him—he has to pretend like it’s at least a challenge to consider. “Listen, Vincent,” he sighs, “I need to know what your story with Harvey is, okay?”

Leo can see the conflict pulling at Vincent’s features. It’s a whirlwind of thoughts and then, all at once, a resignation. He listens expectantly.

“Alright,” Vincent says. He stops to think, but Leo makes sure Vincent can tell he’s listening for deception. “I was a regular guy with a boring bank job. One day, my brother brings in a new client: Harvey.” The delivery is casual, convincing enough that Leo lowers some of his defenses in favor of absorbing the explanation.

“Let me guess,” he says, searching Vincent’s eyes. “Money laundering?”

Vincent points at Leo approvingly. “Yeah. Money was easy, but Harvey just kept coming in with more and more cash. And I couldn’t, uh. Handle it. It was too risky, so…I told him I wanted out.” He takes a deep breath that shudders in his mouth. The voice that is born is more fragile, like he isn’t talking to a fellow escapee, but a trusted friend. “He killed my brother as a warning.”

Leo wants to interject, but he doesn’t want to break the spell that Vincent’s words cast on the campsite that has become so intimate without warning. So he stays quiet.

“After that, I lost it. I planned on killing him, but that son of a bitch pinned it all on me.” Vincent’s eyes fix on a tattered leaf dancing around the edge of the shelter. “I was convicted,” he snarls, “for the murder of my own brother.”

Leo lets out a marveling sound. “That’s…fuckin’ rough, man.” He winces at his own words, loathing how harshly they clash with Vincent’s tender testimony and fall flat on their sorry asses. He curses himself for having such a clumsy tongue.

Fortunately, Vincent doesn’t seem one to take offense at lame sentiments. “Yeah.”

“Sorry,” Leo tries. Then he falls back, taking note of Vincent’s timid composure. It’s so foreign and unusual that interrupting it would surely be a sin.

Soon enough, Vincent looks up, and the timidity is gone. Replaced with his typical determination, soft like a lion's purr. “So. What’s your story, then? With Harvey?”

Leo gives a brusque laugh. “He fucked me over, that’s for sure. We were gonna…” And then his voice trails off, because something new catches his attention. “What’s that?”

Together they look at the sky, at the mountains across the ridge. “Ah, shit,” Vincent says, but his voice is drowned out by the sound of a helicopter. The hum of the rotor is like the song of death gleefully spinning closer from the distance, hailing a fate worse than its name.

“They’re closing in,” Vincent mutters, sharing a look with Leo. “We should move.”

The funny part comes when neither of them budges. Leo’s not so sure why Vincent doesn’t, but his feet throb too much for him to force them to the ground. “Should we, really?” he says. “We gotta have a couple hours on ‘em. It was pretty far off.”

Vincent pauses. “I don’t know, Leo…”

“Come on. We got enough time for a little cat nap, right?” Leo moves off the rock, bearing the ache in his feet long enough to deposit himself in the shelter. He leans back on his elbows and waves Vincent in before he can think twice about it.

The man looks at him and considers it for a while. So long that Leo tosses his head back and rests it on his folded hands, saying, “Suit yourself, then. Leave without me.”

“You know I wouldn’t do that.”

“Do I?” Leo opens one eye and allows himself half a smile when he sees Vincent crawling over to him. “You big baby.”

“Shut up,” Vincent says, lying on his side to face Leo. Leo follows his movement with his eyes, frowning a little in surprise.

“Oh,” he says, noticing Leo’s expression. “Am I making you nervous?”

In the proximity they have closed already, Leo’s eyes track to the movement of Vincent’s Adam’s apple without a single thought. The heat returns to his neck. “Nothing, man. But for all I know I’m bedding down with a serial killer.”

“I came clean, Leo, you can trust me.” Vincent’s next follow-up almost comes out, but it falls short in favor of a different thought: “Bedding down?”

Leo’s lips tighten. “You know what I mean. I hardly know you.”

“Really?” Vincent shifts, sweeping his arm under his head and elevating himself with it. “All this time and I’m still a stranger to you? I’m a little hurt, Leo.”

“You expect me to totally accept you just like that? After one hearty confession that mighta been bullshit?”

“It wasn’t just one. I’ve saved your life, you’ve saved mine. I just think I’ve earned a little more favor with you.”

“You’re arguing way too loud, man,” Leo points out. But he moves his head to meet Vincent’s steady stare. “How much does my faith in you matter, huh?”

“Plenty,” Vincent says. The confidence in his voice is almost enough to make Leo believe him.

Leo huffs through his nose and looks away again. He closes his eyes, even when he hears Vincent moving again. When he feels an unfamiliar warmth radiating over his chest and shoulders, though, he opens them again. Fast.

Vincent’s face is a foot away from his, hovering above him.

Leo cries out and almost sits up on instinct. He remembers that Vincent is right there a second before he does, and instead shrinks into the wood under his back. “The _fuck_ are you doing?” he sputters.

Vincent’s face has grown a little redder, but he doesn’t budge, even when Leo tries to push at him with one halfhearted hand. “Read somewhere that close contact makes a situation a lot friendlier,” he says, much too nonchalantly for this situation. “Helps break the ice, you know?”

“I just feel like—” Leo presses his face to the wood, unable to look at Vincent with his lips that close any longer. “Like there are, you know, _better fuckin’ alternatives_?”

“Well, they’re clearly not working with you.”

“Whatever, man. I trust you, okay? I fuckin’ trust you, now get your ugly ass face away from me.”

Vincent does move back, just a little. “Now I’m hurt. And I don’t believe you.”

“No?”

“You’re not a very good liar.”

“Oh-ho,” Leo snorts, “that is where you are horribly wrong, my friend.”

“Then what have you been lying to me about?”

Leo looks up at him, suddenly feeling like he’s been sucker punched in the gut. Vincent’s got him pinned in place with his eyes, locked in an event that was nowhere near his widest radars. His neck feels like something’s crawling over it—perspiration, he realizes, from his internal body temperature starting to soar. “Nothin’,” he forces out. “Nothin’. Except you being my friend, I guess.”

“So, then, how do you see me?”

A deer in the headlights. In a double blow of sharp questions, Leo feels like a deer trapped in the headlights, the prison spotlights, the searchlights of all the boats on the coast and all the helicopters in the sky. He reaches deep inside of himself, trying and failing to pull out a viable answer. When nothing works, he summons his best improv routine and fakes it. “Man,” he says, looking away with a plastic smirk, “you really gotta back off. I can taste your damn breath with my mouth closed.”

Even though Vincent doesn’t say it, Leo immediately hears what he could’ve easily said. It’s enough to make the blood roar in his ears, drowning out whatever Vincent might be saying to cover it up. His pulse leaps in his veins, making him feel like he’s on twenty different kinds of drugs—a transparent feeling that he instantly despises.

He shakes his head. Can’t take it anymore. He moves fast, reaching up to shove Vincent away from him. “That’s enough,” he grumbles, sitting up. Vincent is startlingly easy to move, but possibly only because Leo caught him by surprise. The larger man rolls away, watching in silence, as Leo bends over his knees and buries his face in his hands.

_What the fuck was that?_

“Hey,” Vincent says from behind. “Hold on, Leo—”

“Nah, man. You were right. We gotta go.”

Leo pulls himself to his feet, ignoring their protests. He would take any pain, even a fucking bullet to the brain, over having to face some sinfully attractive, terrifying demons in the shelter. What he felt, lying there, crossed a line that he doesn't care to define right now. But Vincent won't either, and therein lies the problem.

He doesn't check to see if Vincent is following. By the sound of it, he is, but Leo doesn't count on a heavy hand closing around his wrist. “Wait.”

Leo turns on Vincent with a relentless flair. He can feel the barely restrained emotion working at his face, erupting in a series of erratic twitches that shiver down his body. “What?" he demands.

Vincent's fingers seem to burn right into his feverish skin. His gaze is just as intense, but his voice is controlled. “We aren't done here,” he says slowly.

“Like hell we aren’t," Leo fires back. “Look, can we just move on and forget this? I'd rather not haul ass all the way back to jail.”

“That won't happen.”

"What makes you so sure of that, maestro?” When Vincent provides no answer, Leo lifts his chin. “That's what I thought. Now let go.”

Vincent glares at him. Doesn't let go. Leo refuses to be the one to look away, but it becomes a challenge when Vincent's fingers start to give Leo’s wrist a heartbeat. He tries to pull his arm back, mildly frightened by the iron grip, and fails. “What the fuck? You gonna fucking kill me or what?”

“Dammit, Leo,” Vincent says, “can you stop worrying that I'll kill you?"

"Yeah, once you lose the fucking death grip. I'm gonna kick you in the dick in five seconds,” Leo warns.

Vincent just smirks.

“Oh, you think I’m joking? Think this is a game, you little shit?” Leo raises his voice, hoping Vincent didn’t hear the way it cracked on the last word. “I'll fucking do it. Five...four...three...two…”

Leo pauses, fully expecting Vincent to back off. But when he doesn’t, when he just stands there like he’s reading a fucking teleprompter, Leo lifts his shoulders. “One. Fine."

He takes a quick breath and tightens his core as he pulls Vincent in with all his might. He thrusts forward in the same moment, leading with a knee aimed right at Vincent's groin.

An instant before he connects, though, Vincent moves with alarming speed. He releases Leo's wrist and lets the momentum carry his grip up to Leo's shoulder, twisting away from the offending knee. Leo stumbles, swinging at nothing. He releases a strangled gasp when Vincent yanks him back into a chokehold.

He fumbles at Vincent’s arm and trips over the other man's feet as he is pressed into an unyielding chest. “Dammit, Vincent, you bitch,” he breathes, clawing at the muscle against his throat. He has just enough sense to try and keep from breaking the skin, but drawing blood doesn’t seem like too bad of an idea. “You just wanted—to fight, didn't you? Got a—little bored, huh?”

He spits to the side and groans; Vincent's got one of his arms twisted painfully behind his back. “Jesus, you—could’ve just asked.”

“No, actually.”

Leo catches his breath with how hard he flinches. Vincent's mouth is right next to his ear, hot and gruff. “Then what the fuck—is this?”

Vincent is barely breathing, barely tired. His explanation comes easy, but not in the rehearsed kind of way. More in the _I'm done with bullshit_ way. “I got the feeling we haven't been entirely honest with each other,” he starts.

“Yeah, no shit— _a-ah_ — _hey_ —” Leo clenches his teeth and arches his back forward when Vincent pulls his arm a little harder. He leans back against Vincent's shoulder, gasping for breath and still struggling. “Let go—motherfucker!”

Vincent ignores him. "I was gonna say something over there, try to get some answers,” he says. "But you didn't let me.”

“Then ask, goddammit! Without—breaking my arm!”

Leo can feel Vincent staring at the side of his head. It makes him tremble, which Vincent can undoubtedly feel. It nurtures the white-hot furnace beginning to blaze in Leo's chest, so hot that some of its coals begin to escape. They fall through the corridors of his body, winding up in places they shouldn't be, burning holes in areas Leo cannot address. He swallows sharply, closing his eyes against the sun Vincent has him facing.

“I'm not gonna break your arm. Relax.”

“Is that a fucking option?” Leo gasps and shimmies back, trying to keep his spine straight. So many sources of input are overloading his head, from the way Vincent is literally breathing down his neck to the slow but sure restlessness beginning to stir between his legs. Leo feels the blood drain from his face, then surge back tenfold.

“Vincent, I'm gonna need you to step the fuck away. Right now. No more jokes.”

The grip on his arm eases, but Vincent stubbornly refuses. “I’ve got you talking faster than I’ve ever heard you before,” he says, “and probably more honest, too.”

“Because you are about to suffocate the shit out of me,” Leo shouts. “This isn’t how—you interrogate someone! Grow the fuck up!”

Even still, the serum Vincent’s touch injects him with is surely deadly. And quite effective. The worst part is that Vincent knows exactly what he's doing.

Leo groans as he realizes this, then clamps his mouth shut because those sounds are not doing him any good. It becomes increasingly hard to focus as the blood in his body becomes divided between his face and his cock. He struggles harder, tries to connect his elbow with Vincent’s abdomen, because he can't possibly show him this and live.

But Vincent already saw.

“Ah,” he says. His breath rushes over Leo's ear. “You say that, but I’ve already gotten every answer I wanted.”

“First of all, don’t you _dare_ flatter yourself. I, uh. It’s—been a while," Leo snaps. He can feel the flames licking over his cheeks and ears. “Believe me, it’s not because of you. Second of all, that doesn't mean jack shit. That’s not a fucking answer, it’s a fucking reaction. I don’t even know what the fuck you want from me.”

“You telling me you get hard every time someone manhandles you? Must’ve been tough, trying to defend yourself in prison.”

Leo's mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. “That is not what I am saying and you know it!” he retorts a moment later. “That isn't—”

He loses his voice the second Vincent releases his arm in favor of crossing his body to grip his waist. Leo's mouth parts in a silent cry as Vincent slowly pulls his body back, bringing his ass flush against something very hard.

Leo can't think through the feelings scrambling for control of his body. Fear, disgust, desire, excitement. Horror. Elation. “Vincent," he says, gasping through the word. “Vincent, Jesus, don't fucking—you fucking no-good piece of rat shit, I…”

His eyes snap shut. His words turn to a soft whimper when a set of gentle but sharp teeth close around a portion of his skin. His fingers fly into a frenzy, searching for safe ground on Vincent's arm that now hangs low around his collar. Low enough to feel Leo’s chest rise and fall in a sporadic rhythm, subjected to Vincent's ministrations.

“Leo,” he says.

Leo shudders, still straining to not fall victim to the way Vincent's voice thunders into his neck. He licks his lips nervously. “You finally gonna ask me with real words, Vincent?"

“I’ve seen you take down douchebags twice my size. And I know that _you_ know that I'm hardly trying here.” They’re walking backwards, slow enough that Leo won't fall, but fast enough that he has to depend on Vincent's body to hold him up. They stop against something, and Leo looks straight up as Vincent purrs, “So why haven’t you buried my ass in the ground yet?”

“Man, fuck you,” Leo whispers. It takes all of his willpower to stay silent—mostly—as Vincent buries his fingers into his skin and pulls Leo’s ass back, right into his hips. He still lurches forward, though, with a muffled moan.

“Got it."

Vincent’s arms move, freeing the majority of Leo’s body. But his hands find his biceps instead and wrestle him around, though Leo hardly fights back. His hands go up on instinct and he manages to make Vincent stumble, just for a second, before he’s being held up against a tree.

They stare at each other, now sharing the same labored breaths. Now Leo can see the hunger in Vincent's eyes, coloring them darker than he could ever remember. His face isn't much different, still composed, but there’s a tightness that Leo has seen in cats waiting to pounce on their next meal.

“So, what,” he says, barely a word. “You gonna fuck me against a tree?”

“For now.”

There’s a twitching finger, a heartbeat, a sharp gasp. It takes not a pull, but a push, that sets the beast loose. All Leo has to do is swipe his knuckles over Vincent’s shoulder in an eager gesture of consent before the older man crashes forward.

Leo meets him halfway and it’s like trying to catch a meteor. He feels wood creak under his head with the force they collide with. He gasps through his nose and closes his eyes against the onslaught, crumbling under the weight of Vincent’s searching lips. He can hardly figure out where Vincent’s mouth ends and his face begins; it’s all moist heat, all choppy breaths, all hands and stifled moans.

And it’s all new, too—Leo’s been with men before, but none of them have so aggressively proved to be the match to his passion. Vincent’s kiss is rough, a monster that cuts Leo in half with a liberating rush that makes him moan right into Vincent’s mouth. He sags back, air whistling through his nose, only to be pulled right back up when Vincent grabs his ass and snarls into him.

“Jesus, Vincent,” Leo gasps, turning his head to the side to catch a break. Another moan staggers out of his throat when Vincent nips down his jaw. He lands on a spot directly under his chin and sucks hard, making Leo’s chest lurch. “Fuck. Fuck—”

Vincent laughs. There’s a hand snaking under his shirt, over his back, drawing faint red lines over his burning skin. Leo clenches his teeth and leans against the tree. His hands strangle Vincent’s shoulders, neck, face, wherever he can grab to stabilize himself. “You’re so damn sweaty,” says the other man, looking up from Leo’s neck.

Leo scowls down at him, sure that his eyes mirror the glassy look in Vincent’s. “Yeah, well,” he says, “you sure aren’t helping shit.”

“Oh, sure I am.” Vincent’s teeth sink a little deeper and Leo nearly screams, but he manages to shorten it into a shrill cry. The furnace is imploding, drawing in all of its energy, preparing to fire it outwards before Leo can wrest control. His legs might just give out, but Vincent won’t let him fall.

“C’mere,” Leo chokes out, grabbing Vincent’s ears. He drags him away from the purpling hickey and back up to his mouth, where their teeth clash in a beautiful cacophony. Even in ecstasy, they are fighters, evident in the way Vincent forces his tongue forward and pinches Leo’s ass until the younger man lets him in. Leo distracts himself by reaching between their rolling bodies until he finds the buttons of Vincent’s shirt.

There’s no place for inhibitions here, and if Leo had any before, they’re gone, left in the pile that the shirt soon joins. He pauses, just for a second, to drink in the curves and contours of Vincent’s body, tracing the places where shadows hide under hills of muscle. Vincent lets him, bearing closer, and kisses the side of his mouth. “All yours,” he murmurs.

The words seep into Leo’s skin, releasing tremors wherever they touch. “Yeah?” His hands skim over Vincent’s chest and slide over his sides. His eyes zero into him when the man shivers, just slightly. “You’re fucking right.”

Then they’re kissing again, but Vincent finds a new playtime. As soon as he can wrestle the shirt over Leo’s head, both hands are cupping his ass, taking control of his hips. Leo lets him because now they’re locked in a deadly dance to the harmony of shared whimpers, shared moans that break free every time their cocks grind together. The friction is fire and the pleasure is heroin; somehow it reduces both their vocabularies to two names and a dictionary of curses.

Leo doesn’t even hear himself calling Vincent’s name. White-hot tendrils burst from their hips and curl up through his body, coiling around his muscles and bones and throat. It takes him a moment to realize he’s actually being handled again and that his feet are leaving the ground.

For a second, the magic breaks. “Vincent?” Leo blurts, grabbing the man’s shoulders. “Wh—”

“Hold on.” With that, Vincent scoops Leo up, gripping him under his thighs. Leo cries out and leans forward to hold on for dear life. His fear disappears, though, as soon as he feels a mouth marking its way over his chest. His shoulders drop and his mind goes blank once again, only registering the bites that redden his skin.

By the time Vincent stops walking and all but throws Leo onto the shelter floor, the younger man has gone delirious with the rewarding pain. He stares up at Vincent, whose face once again hovers intimidatingly above his.

It’s grinning. “See?” Vincent says. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Absolutely not.”

Leo hooks his arms over Vincent’s neck and brings him down. There is nothing but the desire to remain here, in a ridge where passion has no limits and lovers are lovers, free from circumstance. Between the arms of a man who has the mouth of a demon and the hands of a magician. One of these hands are reaching between them, and Leo feels a promising tug at his belt. A moment later, it is gone, and the sound of an undone zipper drifts up around their ears.

“Ah, fuck,” Leo moans. A new wave of heat blushes over his face. The feeling of Vincent’s fingers so close to his throbbing cock makes reality crash around him, and this situation is no longer cast in a dreamscape. Vincent stops kissing him, content with pressing their foreheads together, as he frees Leo’s erection.

Leo whimpers, arching off the wood until Vincent’s other hand shoves his shoulders back down. Nerves fire all over, and his sharpened sensitivity throws him farther up his climb than he has ever experienced during sex. “Vincent. Vincent—ah, God, _shit_ …”

“I’ve barely touched you.”

“Then fucking _change_ that, dammit!” Leo’s hands fly over his head, and his fingers find a piece of loose wood that he can anchor his nails to. Vincent notices, and Leo doesn’t miss the way his eyes scrape down his newly exposed body. He squirms under the scan. “Don’t do that,” he says, only half joking.

“This?”

This time, a real wail blossoms through the shelter as Vincent palms his dick, squeezing lightly with his hand. It’s a physical blow, figurative in the ache in his chest and literal in the man’s warm breath that kisses Leo’s cock. The younger man forgets how to breathe, how to think, how to even moan—his mind is a disc stuck on a record player, and the only sound the needle extracts from him is _Vincent, Vincent, Vincent._

“You like that, huh?” Vincent murmurs. Leo opens his eyes, just a bit, enough to stare down at Vincent smirking at him.

“Why the fuck d’you stop,” he groans. He reaches down with one hand, carding his fingers lightly through Vincent’s hair.

Vincent pushes his head into Leo’s hand, stroking his dick with his fingers. “Because,” he says, speaking over Leo’s keening, “I’d _love_ to hear you beg for me, Leo.”

“You son of a bi— _ah-h-h—_ ” The veins in Leo’s neck push up against flushed skin as he cranes his head back, grip tightening as the ghost of a tongue scrapes up his length. “Fine, fine! Use your fucking mouth on me, Vincent, please.”

“You want me to blow you?”

“Yes, goddammit,” Leo shouts. “Just fucking—suck me off, jerk me off, I don’t care. I wanna feel your fucking hands, man—I-I beg—”

“One more time.” Vincent’s fingers are closing around him, picking up the pace.

Leo’s body lifts from the wood, just for a second. “Jesus, _please,_ Vincent,” he begs. His voice shatters on Vincent’s name. “Please.”

A satisfied moan answers him, followed by a wet heat that engulfs his cock. Leo bites back his scream and buries both hands in Vincent’s hair. With his grip planted, he helps Vincent find a rhythm that ignites the gunpowder dusting his flushed body. “Yes,” he pants. “Yes—”

He looks down at the man, wondering what he’ll find. Brown eyes stare back at him, wide and glazed and beautiful, set into a perspiring face bursting with scarlet desire. Vincent’s lips have already become plump with the effort it takes to blow him, and as he watches, Vincent’s hands come around Leo’s hips and hold him fiercely.

“Fuck, Vincent,” Leo says, leaning back. He squeezes Vincent’s head with his thighs, forgetting for the moment that a human must breathe. “My _God_ , you’re so fucking good—you’re so _good_.”

The knot in his stomach is starting to unravel, loosening with every graze of teeth and trace of tongue. A new song begins to twist around their bodies, made from lewd groans from Vincent and wordless pleads from Leo and obscene sounds from two mouths opened wide for separate reasons. The song gets faster as Leo’s body begins to tense, muscles temporarily turning to steel.

His nails scrape against Vincent’s scalp. “Vincent—Vincent, shit—”

Vincent breaks only to speak right into Leo’s fucking _soul_. “Cum for me,” he growls, drawing Leo’s hips with his fingertips. “I wanna see you cum all over my fucking mouth. Do it, Leo, you whore.”

The filth in Vincent’s voice is what gets him. The husk of it, the raspiness of his sharp words—it’s a ripe invitation that strikes the light of the final cannon. Control long gone, Leo hits the floor again as his entire body becomes a rigid bow. Then, with a shrill whimper and a flurry of moans, it fires.

Vincent’s mouth eases off his dick as Leo cums. He holds him, catching Leo’s violent shudders and shouldering the burden of his cries. Leo feels like he falls out of the world, tumbling through a space that smells like Vincent and feels like utopia. And then he’s in the shelter again, struggling to breathe, somewhere between bliss and thirst.

“Vincent,” he breathes. He leans up on his elbows as soon as he can muster up the strength. “I—”

“Ah-ah,” Vincent says, smiling at him. Leo’s breath catches—his cum is all over the man’s face, dripping from his lips and staining his cheeks and rolling down his neck. It glistens on his sculpted chest, promising him an exquisite final stretch. “Don’t forget about me.”

Leo slowly lays back again, all eyes for the way Vincent crawls up his body. Fingers dance from his hips and up his abdomen, stroking his ribs and pressing into his clavicle. By the time Vincent reaches his face, Leo is whimpering again, small and still very much aroused.

“Never seen you like this before,” Vincent says, watching him through hooded eyes. Leo’s gaze flicks from Vincent to his hand, which reveals Vincent’s admirable erection a moment later.

Leo stiffens as he watches. “Yeah, no shit,” he whispers. “Where you puttin’ that?”

“Right here.” Vincent’s hand closes around Leo’s neck as the other guides his own dick to rest against Leo’s, which has already begun to fill out again. Leo’s jaw tightens and he reaches up, almost automatically, to touch Vincent’s chest.

The feel of his own cum produces an aching blush in Leo’s face that demands another taste. Somehow, the kiss he drags Vincent into is new all over again, stronger this time and salty with the traces of Leo’s cum. It’s a taste that shocks him and thrills him at the same time; now it is he who licks into Vincent’s mouth, desperate to drink every bit left.

They both laugh, and it’s a dark, dangerous sound. Vincent keeps his mouth fitted to Leo’s mouth as he begins to grind, falling into a beat that Leo matches almost instantly. He keeps his grip around Vincent’s neck as they begin to pant. The kiss falls apart along with them, but their faces never stray that far from the other.

Blood rushes into Leo’s cheeks as Vincent’s hold gets a little tighter around his neck. Somehow, he doesn’t mind, because it’s become a familiar sensation that’s only ever served to excite him. Still, he gags all the same—Vincent’s focus is on the sound in an instant, and then he’s saying, “Oh, shit—Leo—”

“It’s fine,” Leo forces out. His eyes roll back in ecstasy. “Just—fucking—don’t stop.”

Vincent grunts and gets faster. A glance to the side reveals his other arm, propped beside Leo’s face, shaking wildly. Without a second thought, Leo summons up the remnants of his energy and surges up with all of his might. He catches Vincent by surprise, and it takes him only a few precious seconds to grab the man’s waist, flip him over, and shove him against the shelter floor.

They don’t immediately resume because Leo’s too busy kissing Vincent, combing his fingers through his hair, leaving hickeys in the same spaces Vincent has marked on his own skin. While being on top doesn’t feel as good as being roughed up on the bottom, the idea that he can milk such _sounds_ from Vincent is a reward in itself.

The rhythm picks back up and Leo spots Vincent’s hand, reaching down to touch himself. “No,” he snaps, all beast and fire. “It’s my turn.”

He grabs that wrist and locates the other one in the next second; he pulls them above Vincent’s head and pins them there. The shift from shock to a deep arousal in Vincent’s eyes is painfully visible.

Leo’s mouth prances from Vincent’s neck to his shoulders, biting him in time with their rolling hips. But soon he focuses entirely on bringing Vincent to that edge, and he knows Vincent’s close when he hears the same short, high-pitched cries.

“Say my name,” Leo says, because in that moment that’s all he wants to hear. “Shout it. When you cum.”

“Yeah,” Vincent gasps, and then his body is freezing up into a bronze sculpture. Leo holds his breath with him, releases it with Vincent’s body. He never stops grinding even when Vincent’s body lurches against him, never lets go of Vincent’s hands even when they strain. Vincent hits a peculiar note the fifth time he cries Leo’s name, and a small smile pulls at his features when he feels thick coils of cum hit his stomach. It splatters onto his chest and soils his jeans.

Like he could even care.

Vincent’s entire face is tightened, and for a split seconds his eyes open and Leo catches some of the euphoria shining there. But they close soon enough, fluttering as the last of his cum spills out and he falls limp against the ground without a sound.

Leo wants to keep grinding, wants to cum a second time, but he decides to let Vincent rest. He’s about to roll over and fuck into his hands when Vincent’s tired voice stops him. “Leo,” he says, one last time. His eyes are just barely open. “Let me.”

Leo frowns, but doesn’t argue. He stays poised over Vincent’s upper body and lets go of his hands so that Vincent can reach up. A small sound jumps forth as Vincent grabs him with a renewed vigor. Color begins to return to his face as Vincent strokes him, faster and faster, impossibly fast. Impossibly hard for a man who just came.

Leo swings back and forth, falling onto his elbows with a gasp. Below him, he can feel Vincent smile. “There you go, Leo. Fuck, you look so sexy,” he says. “Cum again. Just for me.”

Leo doesn’t bother answering. It doesn’t take him long, and when it happens, it isn’t nearly as hard but it’s just as good. Vincent moans with him and doesn’t flinch when Leo collapses on him a few long seconds later.

It’s multiple minutes before they even move. Even breathe, it feels like. Leo had just about fallen asleep listening to Vincent’s heartbeat stabilize against his cheek. The first shift comes when Leo slips, just a bit, and feels a few threads of the cum smeared between their bodies break.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he says, alert all at once. He sits up and kneels, straddling Vincent at his thighs. He stares at themselves, wondering how there could possibly be so much cum covering them both. “Was that all me?” he mutters.

Vincent evidently hears him. “Nah,” he snorts, opening his eyes. Leo quickly backs away as Vincent pulls his legs in, groaning all the while. He has the same awed look as he takes them both in. “Shit, we. Really did a number on each other, huh?”

“If that’s what you wanna call it,” Leo says. He stands up and staggers; he has to stick a hand out and grab the top of the shelter for balance. “Man, what the—what the fuck was that?”

Vincent looks up at him, wisely choosing to stay seated. “You tell me.”

“No way. You—” Leo’s vision sways. He has to kneel back down because the feeling of Vincent’s mouth and hands on him is still so fresh and overwhelming. “You never did ask me what in hell you wanted, you know.”

“Oh. It wasn’t obvious?” Vincent pauses. “I was just gonna ask if you—you know…”

“Wanted to fuck you?”

“No!” exclaims Vincent, but by his expression, Leo knows it’s a lie.

“Then no,” he says, “it wasn’t fucking obvious.”

Vincent exhales and rubs his head. Leo can tell he’s in the same haze, same sort of disbelief. “I don’t know,” he admits, “what I wanted to say.”

“But you wanted that to happen.”

Vincent shifts. Now that his self-assured, dominating demeanor has been thoroughly burnt out, all that’s left is the cautious businessman Leo is used to. “Sure,” he says. It sounds like a question.

“What, couldn’t get yourself off in that shithole of a cell?”

“It wasn’t that."

Leo waits for him, but it’s clear that if Vincent wanted to say anything more, he backed out at the last second. And as the silence gets longer, he knows well enough to determine that Vincent has chosen to stay quiet.

So he takes a deep breath and stands up again, as much as he despises the thought of abandoning this place they have created. “Alright, then,” he says, charging his voice with as much casual indifference as he can. “Time to get outta here, my friend.”

“Yeah,” Vincent says, staring at his hands.

Leo feels the man look after him as he walks to the pool, and he hopes he looks steadier than he actually is. Especially as he tries to zip his dick back into his pants.

He senses a little hurt, but he doesn’t care to figure out if it’s Vincent’s or his own. All he knows is that he needs to clean up. They both do.

He also knows that what they just did cannot be covered up and left in the woods, as much as they both may want to. It requires a conversation, action, something frighteningly earnest, but facing it seems harder than what they presently have to do.

Finding Harvey is more important than the hole chewing away at his heart. The thoughts invading his mind. The questions that he never wanted to answer, but might just have to.

It’s bigger than all of that, and they both know it.

For now.

**Author's Note:**

> trying to make up for that angsty shit show I pulled in my last work so like did I do it? you tell me in the comments because I must know
> 
> -also I have a horrible habit of leaving fics very open ended and I cannot tell if I want to continue this or not...
> 
> EDIT: as you can see this is now part of a one-part series. my history should tell you that I am not very good with things like these. HOWEVER. I do plan (IDEALLY) on at least two other fics in this AU arc. will I fulfill that? who knows. I sure would like to.
> 
> EDIT 6/10: yes, there is a sequel in the works. no, it probably won't be done for a little while (unless I surprise myself). but I have not abandoned this work yet and I'm actually pretty excited to keep working on it, so for those who actually like this, it's coming! additionally, I may publish a revamped version of this fic to accomplish a more coherent flow of the story once I finish the sequel. it will be linked both ways. see you soon!
> 
> EDIT 7/14: sequel finally finished. I'm editing as we speak. I hope you guys like angst.


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